What have you done, T'Pol?
by Braxin
Summary: T'Pol misbehaves, Trip suffers. I was going for a taut psychological thriller, what I got instead was T'Pol creeping up on Trip.
1. Chapter 1

**—Day 1—**

* * *

It was just the first day, yet T'Pol was already seized by the most illogical of impulses. This spacial anomaly in which the Enterprise found itself was surely the cause of those impulses, but there was nothing to be done about it, for this region of space was on their route to Azati Prime and had to be traversed no matter the risk, which in this case, was neurological damage, madness and death.

The doctor had previously determined that every member of the crew, save T'Pol had to be sedated, using electronic entrainment technology for the length of the journey through this space. Strictly speaking, Porthos could have been allowed to retain his consciousness, for he was immune to those neurological disorders by virtue of his species, but out of kindness, he was laid in his master's arms and sedated along with the crew. Phlox had determined that only T'Pol was fit to remain conscious for the duration of this journey, though he was apparently mistaken, thought T'Pol, given her symptoms. Still, someone had to stay awake, and someone had to monitor the various ship's systems while in transit, and it just so happened that T'Pol was the one best suited for that task, by virtue of her species, and the lifelong discipline to which all modern Vulcans willingly subjected themselves.

And even though T'Pol performed her tasks conscientiously, it still left her with most of the day and all of the night to her own devices. Unfortunately, when T'Pol tried meditating, she failed badly, and she suspected sleep would be denied her as well, and when she settled for reading as a fallback position, she simply could not muster the requisite ability to focus. Her thoughts were becoming more vivid and demanding of her attention now, even as her control diminished, and these concerns over Trip which were beginning to eat at her, were just another symptom of her degeneration. Startled, she realized that her random wandering about the ship was not so random after all, for just then, she found herself in front of Commander Tucker's quarters.

Surely, she thought, it would be understandable if I just took a quick peek at Trip, to make certain that he's all right.

The Vulcan in T'Pol argued against entering the Commander's private quarters without his knowledge, but the female in T'Pol persuaded the SubCommander to make this small transgression, in order to ease her mind and verify his well being. Every door on the Enterprise was currently closed, but unsecured, so Commander Tucker's door opened automatically as T'Pol drew close, yet she stood in that open doorway for the better part of a minute, before she stepped inside to find Commander Tucker sleeping, as expected.

The man had left a night light on, and it was still shining dimly onto the bed, as T'Pol approached, then touched his forehead, took his pulse, felt his heartbeat, and finally felt reassured. She found it agreeable to look at him now, perhaps because he was bare-chested, so she pulled a chair next to the bed and simply looked at the man as he slept. She'd always found Commander Tucker attractive, but couldn't bring herself to study him as closely as she would have liked to when he was awake due to a self-conscious streak he brought out in her, but here he was, sleeping like an angel, and she could drink in the sight of him at will, in order to quench her thirst. She was close enough to rest her hand on his chest, and she did so now, in order to feel the strength of his heartbeat. That was logical of course, though unnecessary. Still more unnecessary, she ran her hand down his ribs then back to his chest, then down to his stomach, then back to his chest...

Oh, hell, I am molesting Commander Tucker!

If her inability to control her hands around this man was startling enough, it was almost as startling to see the sheet covering the Commander rise, seemingly of its own volition. Of course, thought T'Pol with a sigh. Every other member of the crew slept in their standard work uniform, but trust Commander Tucker to sleep naked, and then, to have the bad taste to shock her by producing an erection. In fairness, worse than the erection, was the man's bed sheet. It featured a cartoon elephant's head which laid strategically atop his groin, the elephant's trunk making promises no human male could possibly honor.

Still, T'Pol was flattered that her touch alone was enough to excite the Commander, and it was not like she had not seen it before... they were lovers, after all. She looked around quickly, before realizing how silly that was on a ship of sleepers, then realized that her very nervousness was another symptom that her mind was under pressure from this region of space. Blushing now, T'Pol raised the sheet to glance at Commander Tucker's, er… Blushing even more, at the thought of him opening his eyes and catching her in this salacious act, or even worse, someone walking in on them, T'Pol quickly covered the Commander Tucker up once more, sheet drawn up to his chin.

The alarm clock on the man's desk caught T'Pol's eye, and she realized she'd spent the better part of an hour in the Commander's quarters. The odd thing was that here, with him, for a time the agitation in her mind receded, but Vulcan self-respect demanded she do something more productive than staring at Commander Tucker like a love struck female. She checked on the rest of the senior staff on the assumption that such a thing would make her visit to Commander Tucker's quarters permissible.

When she checked on Captain Archer she had found that Porthos was cuddled by his master's side, head on Archer's stomach, and T'Pol found Archer's subservient quadruped quite cute in that adorable pose. There was a strip of bacon on Archer's desk, so T'Pol placed it on Archer's stomach, right under Porthos' nose, on the assumption it would aid Archer's canine companion in the pursuit of pleasant dreams.

Next, T'Pol conducted her evening tour of the ship, her agitation returning as she wandered through the empty halls of the Enterprise in search of a purpose. Lacking that, she got some green tea in the mess hall then returned to her quarters to attempt meditation and/or sleep. When both of those failed, and her agitation turned to an anger just barely suppressed, T'Pol took her tea and retreated to the only place of peace on this ship, having walked the short distance to Trip's cabin in her blue silk pajamas.

Looking down at Commander Tucker, T'Pol checked his vital signs once more to set her mind at ease. This had been a mistake, thought T'Pol, this decision to go through the midst of this anomaly, for she could feel her emotions clawing at the mental shields of control that kept them suppressed. Unsure if she should stay, for Commander Tucker often inflamed her emotions, yet unwilling to leave, T'Pol looked about Trip's quarters. She looked at his family photos, pawed through his desk, smelled his bath towels, donned a pair of his leather work gloves and ran them under her pajamas and over her naked body, and generally violated every tenet of good manners when in another's home.

She grasped at straws for any reason to leave and came up blank. Accordingly, she crawled into bed with Commander Tucker and draped herself all over him. Human ships always seemed too cool to Vulcans, and cuddling with Trip was the same as cuddling with a 6'2" constantly hot, water bottle.

Still restless, T'Pol looked at Commander Tucker. He looked so peaceful and she envied him that peace at this time. She ran her fingers through his hair, traced the line of his jaw, ran her hands down his arm to his hand, and entwined her finger with his. Eventually she ran her hands over him once more, and was not surprised, this time, when Trip's body responded... rather, she was flattered.

T'Pol rested her head on Trip's chest now, while her hand grabbed a hold of something she should have probably left alone. Despite her best intentions her hand started gently pulling, twisting, tugging and stroking, seemingly of its own volition as she watched intently and after twenty or thirty minutes of the same, Trip lost control… T'Pol slipped off her silk pajama top and made use of it to dry off the Commander, then tossed it next to her slippers. She and Commander Tucker were certainly due for an awkward confession, once he woke. She finally slept then, but not too long, for a loud bang somewhere in the halls, jerked her awake.

T'Pol slipped out of bed, unsure if the noise had been real, or a figment of her subconscious mind, but given the things they'd gone through so far on the Enterprise, she had no choice but to investigate. As a former member of several special units, T'Pol was a skilled combatant, in both armed and unarmed forms, so she moved cautiously, but fearlessly down the halls, towards the weapons locker. Her rank gave her access to the weapons within and she drew out a phaser rifle. With it held at the ready, she spent the next two hours clearing the ship. Moving through the Enterprise, usually so alive with movement and sound but now as silent and empty as a ghost ship, put T'Pol nerves further on the edge. At the end of it all, she felt foolish, but caution had demanded that she investigate any unusual events.

A last stop in the mess hall for another cup of green tea produced nothing but aggravation, when it refused to dispense tea. Calmly, T'Pol flipped off the safety, and unleashed a half dozen phaser blasts into the beverage dispenser. Now it every reason to malfunction. She moved warily down the halls once more, and crawled in bed next to Commander Tucker, actually moaning with delight when she caught scent of him once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**—Day 2—**

* * *

T'Pol woke hours later, quite disoriented. Commander Tucker's alarm clock lay shattered and broken on the floor, and she recalled that she'd given it a sound thrashing a bit earlier. She luxuriated in the feeling of waking next to Trip now. She kissed his lips, brushed his hair, touched his chest and felt his heartbeat, then, reassured, stripped off her pajama bottoms. She took a shower in his quarters, dried herself off with his towel, then put on one of his shirts to keep warm and headed off to do her daily rounds, pausing at her quarters only long enough to put on pair of sturdy shoes. She should have felt cold on the Enterprise in nothing but shirt and shoes, but she was feeling quite warm, and she resolved to check her vital signs after her rounds.

Two hours later, rounds completed, vitals taken and findings analyzed, T'Pol felt like slamming her head into the wall. She was no medic, but if her suspicions were correct, this region of space was initiating a mating cycle, her first. No wonder she was obsessed with Commander Tucker. Knowing the problem, was not a cure for the problem. She tried a sedative, to no effect. Tried a different kind of sedative, same thing. She was afraid to try more, worried of unpleasant side-effects or even worse unintended consequences, and so she tried to meditate, to no avail. She tried to eat next, but had no appetite. No matter, she needed to get back to Trip.

Once in his quarters she crawled atop him and kicked off one of his silly movies, 'Mothra vs. Rodan', but it was torture being so close to him and denying her urges and Commander Tucker must have felt her psychic call even subconsciously, for he was visibly excited. Trust that man to come back from the dead for an alien female!

Despite the fact that desire was clouding her mind, she tried to find a way out of this predicament, but as far as she knew, only two options were available to her, here and now, since sedation was ineffective. She could mate with the Commander. She was certain he would forgive her, given her need, or she could try to meditate her way out of her current difficulty, but all her attempts at meditation had been unsuccessful, so far.

I will try once more, she thought, but I must remove myself from my mate's presence. It's too distracting… did I just refer to Commander Tucker as my mate? I did. Why?

She resolved to try meditation once more, and so T'Pol returned to her own quarters, but two hours later, she'd made no progress at all. The only thing she could focus on was her mate... Commander Tucker. She ate, and tried again, and again to meditate. When she finally gave up, it was morning, by ship's time. She was out of options. She must mate, or die.


	3. Chapter 3

**—Day 3—**

* * *

T'Pol did her rounds absentmindedly now, trying to delay the inevitable. Logically, she knew that Trip would give of himself freely, especially knowing the price she'd pay if she didn't mate, but it wasn't right. She had often considered what a Vulcan mating cycle would be like between them, but it was never like this… not with him a vegetable.

Her disorientation was intensifying though... her rounds, which typically took two hours, weren't even complete four hours into the task. Worse yet, the pains began. Her left hand clenched of its own accord, closed so tightly that her fingernails dug into her flesh until her hand was slippery with green blood. Even when the spasm went away, the muscles in her hand and arm hurt badly from the unaccustomed intensity and duration of the spasm. Even so, the pains in her head made the pains in her arm seem like nothing – it felt like someone was driving a spike through her brain.

T'Pol dragged herself to Sick Bay for an analgesic, which had no beneficial effects, naturally enough, given the way her luck was running. The time had come.

Back in her mate's quarters, T'Pol stripped off the sheet covering his body, then stripped herself and straddled her mate. She laid herself onto her mate's body and touched his face delicately, only to feel despair. There wasn't enough of her mate there to initiate a mental connection. It was like trying to grasp a handful of oil. Without that connection, of mind touching mind, the physical act alone would not be enough to save her.

She tried again, and once more to make a connection, her desperation and desire growing along with the pain. Finally, accepting what had to be accepted because there was no other option, T'Pol fell off her mate and curled by his side. The pain intensified beyond her tolerance, and for the longest time T'Pol lay curled in the fetal position as her stomach felt torn apart by a wild sehlat, her grasp on her mate's hand the only lifeline to any reality other than pain. When it subsided some, enough, she was covered in sweat, and from her mouth came whimpers and moans of pain that seemed like the sounds of a stranger.

She laid next to her mate and considered her limited options. She could remove the entrainment device which rested on her mate's forehead. That would allow her to complete the Bond and mate successfully. However, the odds were that such an act would destroy Trip's mind, and take his life. That was unacceptable, but T'Pol was afraid that if the pains were intense enough, lasted long enough, repeated often enough, that she would act to preserve herself, and destroy her mate in the process. That would never do. The only logical option left her, the only release came in the form of the phaser rifle which she had left on the Bridge the morning after her panicked awakening.

T'Pol's eyes were drawn to her mate's communicator, which rested on a shelf built into the wall. She flipped it open, left a brief message and clipped it to her mate's pillow then kissed him one last time. She had to end it all quickly, before the next wave of pain should sweep her away, and the one after that, and the one after that…

She rose painfully to her feet and was hit by a wave of nausea as the deck spun round and round in her vision. She fell, rose, then fell again, before deciding that moving on all fours was preferable to falling again. It was slow going, and she threw up the contents of her stomach somewhere outside her mate's door. Though she was not aware of it, T'Pol was barely functional, and a bare thirty feet outside the Bridge she collapsed and lost consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**—Day 5—**

* * *

When next she stirred, T'Pol felt extremely weak, but at least her thoughts seemed her's once again. Rising slowly to her feet, she still felt the tug of vertigo, but it was manageable. She entered the Bridge and accessed the sensors through the science station. The Enterprise had exited the region of space which had affected her so badly, and must have done so after she had passed out. A glance at the ship's chronometer told T'Pol she had been unconscious for eighteen hours. She had to wake the Doctor.

 **—Day 8—**

* * *

T'Pol woke with a start, but Doctor Phlox easily pressed her gently back to the bed. She was in SickBay.

"Easy, SubCommander," said Phlox. "You've been through a lot, you need the rest."

"How long?" she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Three days since you woke me," said Phlox, "and I must admit it was a rude surprise, seeing you in that shape. I gathered from the medical scans you took on the second day, precisely what happened to you."

"Why am I still alive?"

"Since your mating cycle was induced, T'Pol," said Phlox, "a function of that region of space, your symptoms ceased once we found our way to normal space, or what passes for normal here, in the Expanse. I do not believe you would have survived a natural cycle."

Thinking of what she'd been through, T'Pol agreed. She glimpsed some movement in the corner of her eye and turned her head to see Commander Tucker asleep on the bed next to hers. She looked at Pholx and raised brow.

"Commander Tucker's been here every spare moment he gets," said Phlox. "He comes in after his shift is over, eats his dinner here, spends the night here, talking to you, reading to you, watching TV with you 'till all hours of the night. He was in such bad shape tonight that I sedated him under threat of removing him from the duty roster and banning him from Sick Bay. He should be awake in a few hours."

T'Pol nodded, and decided to close her eyes for a spell. When next she woke, Commander Tucker was gone, and seeing her movement, Phlox approached her smiling benevolently.

"Commander Tucker left for his shift not long ago, but he was extremely relieved to hear you'd regained consciousness," said Phlox. "You do look much better, SubCommander, though you're still weak. I will release you later today. You'll rest better in your quarters and I'll check up on you. Anyway, Commander Tucker will be along to walk you to your quarters once his shift is over."

"I can get there by myself," said T'Pol.

"That is not an option, SubCommander. You are relieved of duty until you're back to normal and Commander Tucker ordered me not to release you until he comes for you. As you are well aware, the Commander outranks me."

T'Pol nodded, and said, "Very well, Doctor."

Several hours later, Commander Tucker came for T'Pol. He'd showered, shaved and traded his uniform for his favorite jeans and a silly t-shirt with a comic depiction of a robot named Bender from an old TV show named Futurama, and to T'Pol's weary eyes, he seemed adorable.

Now, as Commander Tucker walked T'Pol to her quarters, she said, "Do you mind if we stop by your quarters for a moment. I forgot my slippers there, when I checked up on your health."

"Sure," said Trip, with a slight smile.

Once inside, Trip sat T'Pol upon his bed and slid her slippers onto her feet. He smiled more broadly when he noticed T'Pol looking furtively around the room.

"You looking for something, SubCommander?"

"No," said T'Pol, "I just need to rest for a few moments."

"If rest is all you need, you'll do it here," said Trip, and before T'Pol could protest, the man lifted her easily and slipped her into his bed.

Truthfully, T'Pol could have protested, but there was no other place she'd rather be in her present state, so she watched with open interest as Commander Tucker slipped out of his jeans and into a pair of grey cotton shorts, before laying next to her. In this light, and from this angle, thought T'Pol, perhaps the elephant bedspread had not been such an exaggeration, and she felt a touch of amusement at the nature of her thoughts. She moved closer to Trip and at his urging and was glad for it.

After a few minutes of silence, Trip said, "I'm glad you just felt a need to rest, T'Pol. I was afraid you were just here to collect your things."

"Things, Commander?"

"I found your pajama bottoms on the floor of my quarters, SubCommander. I found your pajama top, resting atop your slippers and it was stained."

T'Pol tensed at that, but Trip merely hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head.

"Do you feel like telling me what happened here?"

"Perhaps later, Commander."

"I figured out one part of it by myself, T'Pol."

"Oh?"

"Yep. Your clothes strewn about my quarters, two cups of your green tea, your slippers, and your thong on my bathroom countertop."

"I apologize—"

"No need to apologize, T'Pol, but the significance of of those items was interesting..."

"Significance, Commander?"

"You were declaring me your mate, SubCommander," said Trip, smiling openly, "marking your territory, should any trespassing females find their way into my quarters."

"With you, that is always a possibility, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, "given your record where alien females are concerned."

"Ouch, T'Pol."

"In any case, Commander Tucker, all you've proven is that I was a slob under the influence of that cursed region of space."

Trip's communicator beeped.

"Tucker here."

"Commander Tucker," said Phlox, "I just tried to reach T'Pol, but she's not answering her comm. You did drop her off at her quarters, no?"

"I am here, Doctor," said T'Pol.

"She's resting with me, Doctor."

"Ah, good. I actually feel better that she's with you. I was just concerned when I couldn't reach her," said Phlox.

"Do me a favor, Doctor, and be discreet with this information. The SubCommander values her privacy."

"You may both count upon it," said Phlox and logged off.

"So where were we? Oh, yes, you say that your personal items scattered about my place prove nothing," said Trip, reaching for his comm unit. "But perhaps this will."

"Oh?" said a wary T'Pol.

She remembered leaving Trip a message, but due to her delirium, could not remember the nature of that message.

"You left a very sweet message for me," said Trip, fiddling with his communicator. "You can listen to it all later, but this last part should sum it all up."

Trip held the communicator so that T'Pol could hear it clearly now, and T'Pol heard her own voice speaking.

"—so you will understand that rather than running the very real risk of harming my beloved mate, I will choose to end my life. I wish you long life, and peace, Commander Tucker.

T'Pol was stunned.

"You called me your mate, T'Pol. Your beloved mate."

"I could not help myself, Commander. I was under the influence of my mating drive. You can not understand its intensity."

"Fair enough, maybe that's all it was," said Trip. "But I will choose to believe otherwise, and I will choose to believe you meant what you said."

T'Pol wondered what else she'd said to the Commander, but she was still rocked by what she'd heard, and which was more than enough to make her uneasy.

"In any case," said Trip, "I hope to be there for your next cycle, T'Pol, and preferably conscious."

T'Pol felt Commander Tucker looking down at her, but she was suddenly too shy to raise her head, too shy to meet his eyes.

"I share your hope, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, and pressed herself closer to the man's warm body.


End file.
